#2017 poems

[lovejakecallerworld]

2017 April Poems

April 2017 poems April 2017 Poem a Thon Poems in 2017, i participated in my first April month of poetry challenge.  the goal, write one poem per day during the month and post them.  i completed a bit more than 30 and posted them on Triferet journal @ http://tiferetjournal.comand on a special community Facebook page @https://www.facebook.com/tiferetapril2018poemathon/ . I also posted them on All…

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[metalfeline]

Tonerre des Plaines

Le tonnerre s’est abattu sur les grandes plaines, Les vents violents battent les herbes Et soulèvent la poussière dans un tourbillon, une danse tsunamienne, Dans laquelle les chevaux furieux se lancent au grand galop, Parcourant les grandes plaines à des rythmes infernaux. 2017-07-07 : 22h20

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[j2parman]

A story read was reminiscent: someone like me depicted in a way, reanimated like a goat at the lab, wires hanging loose, dials turned, switches flipped. I am old, I thought, and cranky. Oh, it’s true, all of it. I can’t take company for long, no matter that I willed it at moments, waiting as I was. (I’m good at that.) In the story, there’s a third force, as one mystic called it, although it’s hard to pinpoint who it is. I might just be him, and vice versa: someones who are episodically here, wanting less or more, depending, and mostly out of sync.

from my cold-addled head. The image of the reanimated goat goes beyond the story, but speaks to my ragged feelings at present.

[breakingwhalenews]

So notorious you don’t even know what I look like everybody’s boo everybody first love everybody’s thot everybody good fuck everybody’s tit everybody’s mama everybody’s abandoned everybody’s excuse everybody’s lament You love that shit, the way I put my black on flex in it, put my whole foot in it, so black you can’t divorce it, so black you don’t speak my language, black in your wet dream, I come Black. My black is residual, will not wash out of the duvet. you love to deliver love to send the sickled train down my throat, love to shut me up turn the floodlights off &

Trap Queen don’t fear shit except, how easily my body leaves me, how often it is not mine.

Trap Queen don’t fear shit, except an unlimited caricature, except the way they tow my narrative

right out of my own mouth and iron it out flat. Trap Queen don’t fear shit, except for how

Errybody lay claim when the sun falls, except for how I can’t keep a moment of myself to

myself. Don’t fear shit except the way my lonesome is your invitation, the way all my power coagulates

The way the world will lay its violences at the threat of my able black body. Except, the way nobody

got my back. Until I’m face forward, an obituary a red prayer orbiting, until

Errybody forget about it & find my sister. & Repeat.

(more killer poems, curated by Queen Morgan, over at Buzzfeed)